


Ten Inches of High Quality Hyperion Hero

by sexyhandsomejack



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Felching, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Rimming, Smoking, Vaping, really shady dom tactics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyhandsomejack/pseuds/sexyhandsomejack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack takes Rhys on a 'business trip' with him and only books one hotel room. Smoking fetish, manipulative Dom tactics, Daddy kink. </p>
<p>This is the first fic I've posted here that isn't just crack fic and it looks like it's going to be a million pages long. </p>
<p>Part 1/???</p>
<p>Will add tags as further hijinks occur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Rhys lingers in the corner of the hotel room, eyes wide, heart thumping hard within his rib cage. Behind him, the door slides shut and locks, its light turning red to signal that it’s bolted from the inside. His left arm aches from the heaviness of the luggage he’s carried up in the elevator and through the hall, but he can’t even think to drop it. 

_One bed,_ his mind shouts. 

There’s only one bed in the room, and it looks like Jack’s booked the honeymoon suite. A jacuzzi in one corner, its rim littered with little soaps and bubble baths. A mini fridge filled with bottles of champagne and whiskey. A plate of chocolate chip cookies and mints on the coffee table where Jack’s dropped the keycard. The crisp white bed linens are turned down and the air conditioner is blasting, the whole place smelling clean and cool, like a soft cocoon nestled away from a world full of dirt and blood and death.

This isn’t a room made for two men staying here on business. This is a place made for something else. 

Jack struts across the room and pulls open the shades, revealing the bright lights of the nocturnal city skyline. From the corner of his eye, he shoots Rhys a deadly glance. It lasts only a millisecond, but there’s bittersweet poison in it, at once daring Rhys to question the sleeping arrangements while begging him to say nothing. 

_Pick a fight, baby boy,_ Rhys pictures Jack thinking as the older man flicks on the bedside radio, _pick a fight, because I’ll win. Or keep your pretty mouth shut like you should._

But Rhys knows that arguing wouldn’t be worth it. It doesn’t matter if Jack wins or loses. Rhys is trapped in Jack’s game, a locked door behind him and the keycard taunting him from the table, and that’s all Jack wants. To play the game. To scream. To yell. To cry. To beg for forgiveness. 

To feel something. 

Anything at all.

And the cost is inconsequential. 

“You gonna stand there all day like a fuckin’ hat rack, kiddo?” Jack asks. “Fuck’s sake, you know how much I paid for one night in this shit hole? Put your fucking bags down and get comfortable.”

Rhys puts their luggage down beside a chair that sits in the corner, then begins unpacking their things. It keeps him busy, gives him time to think, to turn over the possibilities in his head as he calculates every play Jack could pull, every reaction he’ll need to have to minimize any given situation. But now he’s taking too long, and Jack knows it. The silence overflows out of Rhys, seeps through the room until its drenched the empty spaces and dampened the hems of Jack’s expensively tailored suit. 

A short, low growl comes from the back of Jack’s throat. “What, you don’t like it here?” he asks. 

“I-it’s...nice,” Rhys stutters, his voice barely a whisper. And then, because that’s not enough, because silence is as deadly around Jack as the wrong words, he adds, “Places like this always make me nervous, you know? What if I eat a cookie and they charge us fifty bucks for it?”

Jack snorts. “Fifty bucks? Kiddo, I’ve got enough cash to buy you as much shit here as you want.” He flops onto the bed on his back, crosses his arms behind his head. “I should buy this place, fucking bulldoze it to the ground.” He closes his eyes, and his hand searches inside his jacket pocket. He pulls out a sleek silver vape pen, puts it to his lips, takes a long pull from it as his chest rises. The pen makes a small sound as Jack sucks on it - _vvwwhirrrrr_ \- and then he lowers it and holds his breath. 

Rhys watches, his own breath caught in his chest. 

He watches as Jack exhales slowly, lips parted, the white smoke coming out in whorls from across his tongue. The vapor lingers in the air, forms a little cloud, and Jack inhales again through his nose, pulling it back in. 

Jack puts one arm behind his head on the pillow, turns slightly to see Rhys. “New vape. Expensive. You like it?”

“It’s nicer than the last one,” Rhys says. 

“Yeah,” Jack answers flatly. “You want one?”

Rhys forces a smile. “I still don’t smoke, no matter how much you keep trying.”

Jack shrugs. “Whatever. Gonna bitch at me for smoking in bed, buttercup?”

 _Not if you let me sleep on the floor instead,_ Rhys thinks. _Or in the bath tub. Or on the balcony. Or on the fucking moon._ But instead, Rhys says, “It actually doesn’t smell that bad.”

Jack’s nostrils flare as he pulls in a short, sharp breath. A predator catching a scent, calculating how to move in for the kill. “Flavor’s called Stalker Juice,” he says with a short laugh. “Isn’t that a fucking riot? Leaves a great burn in the back of your throat.” He takes another long pull, rounds his lips,and blows out a puff of vapor that takes shape into a smoke ring.

Unwittingly, Rhys chuckles, a grin spreading across his face that he tries to hide by sinking his teeth into his cheeks. 

“You like that, kiddo?” Jack asks. He pulls again, then blows a few smoke rings that float up slowly to the ceiling before dissipating. 

And suddenly Rhys can’t remember why he was afraid of Jack a minute ago. Jack’s tapping one foot like there’s an electrical charge running down his leg, but his upper body is relaxed, a grin playing at the corners of his lips while he blows a smoke ring sideways towards Rhys.

“Here...” Jack says, pushing himself back up and walking towards Rhys until he’s towering over the younger man. “...just relax, would you?” He inhales on his vape slow and deep, his eyes wide and watchful beneath his eyebrows that are turned down into their familiar V. 

Rhys stares up at the older man and shakes his head. “Relax? What are you-”

Then Jack places one curled finger under Rhys’ chin, purses his lips, and blows warm smoke directly into Rhys’ face. 

Rhys coughs, presses his eyes shut against the sudden sting. But the scent is heady and inviting, and he can’t stop himself from inhaling deeper when he smells cardamon and black pepper, the lingering aftertaste of vanilla smoothing its way from the back of his throat to the tip of his tongue. His body is shaking, the touch of Jack’s hand making something deep within his belly ache.

 _Stop,_ Rhys begs himself, _you have to stop this._ He tries to back up, but there’s a wall there that bumps into him, and he knows he should try to grab the keycard and run. But he can smell Jack- nicotine and beer and sweat and blood and spice- and he can feel the heat of the man pressing closer to him, and the trembling in his stomach turns his limbs to jelly. 

“ _That’s_ it,” Jack says, his voice deep and husky, leaning in until the words ghost across Rhys’ ear. He traces his hand up Rhys’ jawline, strokes the tender flesh behind Rhys’ ear with his knuckles. “That’s my good boy.”

Rhys groans, blood pooling in his groin. 

Jack hums. “So beautiful, baby boy,” he whispers. His teeth graze Rhys’ earlobe, biting just hard enough to make Rhys’ knees buckle beneath him. “My good boy. You’re going to be so good for me, aren’t you?”

Rhys opens his eyes, his head swimming and his vision blurry. He senses Jack better than he sees him, feeling every brush of Jack’s fingers run along his skin like electricity. Gooseflesh prickles up along Rhys’ arms, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. 

“ _Aren’t_ you?” Jack asks again, tone dagger sharp.

Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, Rhys looks up at Jack through hooded eyes and manages a small nod. “Y-Yes...” he says.

Jack’s fingers curl into Rhys’ hair. They give the slightest pull, just enough to sting. “Yes _what?_ ”

“Yes, I’ll be...” Rhys swallows hard. “...I’ll be good for you.”

“You’ll be good for me, _WHAT?_ ” Jack spits out like venom. 

For a second Rhys is too confused to answer, and then he realizes what Jack is demanding. 

Rhys lowers his eyes to the floor, his voice trembling. “I’ll be good for you, Sir.” 

“Mmm, that’s it, sweetheart,” Jack says. “Such a pretty boy, you know that? So fucking gorgeous. So good for me.” He leans in, chest an inch away from Rhys’. “We’ll go with _Sir_ for now, but if you’re _very_ good for me, we’ll move on to something even better.” 

Rhys nods deftly. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” Jack asks. “I thought I heard you say something, but I think you mumbled."

“Yes, Sir,” Rhys says, his face flushing bright red. 

“That’s right,” Jack says, leaning forward even more. He put the flat of his hand onto the wall above Rhys’ shoulder, steepling himself above the shorter man, the vape pen danging between his knuckles. His other hand comes up to cradle Rhys’ chin between forefinger and thumb. Jack turns Rhys’ head to the left, then to the right, then sticks his thumb between Rhy’s lips. Panting for breath, Rhys opens his mouth, and Jack slips his thumb in between Rhys’ teeth and pulls his jaw open. “Fuck, kiddo, look at you. Such an obedient little _slut_. I could do anything to you right now, Rhysie baby. I could take you as hard as I want. Destroy that tight little asshole of yours. And you’d let me do it.”

Rhys doesn’t know if he should answer or not, but he does. “Yes, Sir,” he moans out, his blush creeping down his cheeks and spreading through his body. 

Jack taps his vape against the wall. “Get on your knees.”

Rhys obeys. His knees drop to the rough carpet of the hotel room floor and his heels hit the wall behind him. In front of his nose is Jack’s hardening cock, straining against the material of the man’s jeans. Rhys’ mind is blares another warning, but this time it’s saying _Big. Big big big._

“Take off my shoes,” Jack says. 

...well, that definitely wasn’t the request Rhys thought he’d get. So he does as he’s told, unties the laces of Jack’s sneakers, pulls on the tongues to loosen the shoes, then pulls them off one at a time as Jack lifts up his feet. He’s not sure where to put them, so places them on the floor between Jack’s spread legs. 

“Nice socks,” Rhys mutters. 

Jack chuckles darkly and wiggles his toes in his Hyperion yellow socks with black stripes. “You should see my tighty whities. Guess what color they are, Rhysie.”

Rhys looks at the floor again. “Yellow, Sir?”

“Find out,” Jack says, nudging his hips forward. 

_There’s_ the request Rhys was expecting. With shaking fingers, he pops open the button of Jack’s jeans with his real hand, then takes the zipper between his metal fingers and slowly pulls it down. 

Jack lets out a long, slow growl of approval. Behind the zipper is nothing but flesh. “What color are my undies, baby boy?”

Rhys gulps. “...you’re not wearing any, Sir.”

“Take my cock out,” says Jack. His breath is starting to come heavy, his wide chest rising and falling. 

Rhys wraps his real fingers around Jack’s hard cock and pulls it out of his pants, huge and heavy and dripping with precum. 

_“Fuck,”_ Rhys gasps.

Jack takes a pull on his vape, then blows it back out like a steam train. “Ten inches of high quality Hyperion hero, baby.” He yanks on Rhys’ hair and pushes the younger man’s head forward.

Rhys’ lips bump against Jack’s member. He sticks out his tongue, lets Jack guide his head along its length. Precum catches on Rhys’ bottom lip, the taste carrying itself into his mouth, sharp and bitter. 

“Sorry if that tastes like shit, kiddo,” Jack says. “Been eating a lot of junk lately. For fuck’s sake, suck on it, would you?”

Rhys takes the head of Jack’s cock into his mouth. He closes his lips around it, slides his tongue along the sensitive flesh beneath Jack’s slit. He laps up the precum, then slathers spit along the underside of Jack’s hard length.

“ _Fuck_ yeah, kiddo,” Jack moans, “make it _sloppy_.”

Rhys lets spit bubble out from between his lips, spreads it along Jack’s cock with his lips, lets it run down to Jack’s balls before chasing it with his tongue. Suddenly Jack slams his cock into the back of Rhys’ throat, making the younger man lurch forward and gag.

Jack frowns. “Relax your throat.”

Panic rises in Rhys’ chest. He’s never done this, but he knows that means nothing to Jack.

Or maybe it means everything. 

Rhys takes a few deep breaths and tries to relax. Jack combs his fingers through Rhys’ hair, then he presses his cock back into Rhys’ throat, hitting the tight ring of muscle. Rhys’ throat instinctively swallows at the intrusion.

“Relax, baby boy,” Jack says again, his voice honey sweet. “You’re being _very_ good for me right now. _Relax_ , sweetheart. Relax your throat for Daddy.”

Rhys’ heart does a flip in his ribcage. Shocked, he tries to pull away, but Jack’s hand holds his head in place, tangling deeper into his hair. Rhys flickers his gaze up to Jack, and Jack is staring back down at him, intense and unrelenting, his pupils blown wide. 

“So gorgeous, Rhysie,” Jack says. “Focus, cupcake. Tell me who you’re being a good boy for. Fucking _say_ it.”

Shame boils up in Rhys. It scalds him from the inside out, but the white hot heat that shoots down his spine goes straight to his cock, and his half flagged erection becomes rock hard. He pulls his mouth away from Jack’s cock just enough to speak. 

“I’m... I’m good for you, Sir,” he says. 

“What was that, Rhysie baby?”

“...I said... I said I was good for, for you D-...” Rhys’ voice stops short, the words clinging desperately to the tip of his tongue.

_“WHAT was that?”_ Jack asks, his voice raising dangerously. 

Rhys presses his eyes shut. Nuzzles his cheek against Jack’s hip. Feels the press of Jack’s hip bone there, smells the musk of Jack’s skin. He sighs softly, feeling the last of his resistance leave him. 

“...I’m good for you, Daddy.” 

Jack absolutely purrs in delight. “That’s right, baby boy,” he says, “you’re being so good for Daddy.” 

“Yes, Daddy...” Rhys says again, for no reason at all, the words leaving his lips easily this time. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jack croons. He smirks, then pushes his hips forward again. 

Exhaling, Rhys tries to open up his throat. The thick head of Jack’s cock slides forward along his tongue, pushes harder, centimeter by centimeter...

...and suddenly pops past the tight ring of his throat, sliding down deeper.

Rhys’ body hitches in surprise, and he realizes in a bleary daze of panic that he can’t breathe. Jack’s cock blocks up everything as it slides further down. Rhys pushes at Jack’s thighs, but Jack just combs his fingers through Rhys’ hair again and keeps on. 

“ _There_ it is, baby boy, that’s it...” he gasps, words short and breathless. 

Rhys gags, his throat clenching and spasming. The muscles under his tongue pull sharply, and his mouth fills with saliva. Then, just as his head starts swimming and he worries he might pass out, Jack pulls his cock back out. 

_"Ow, fuck!”_ Rhys groans, inhaling frantically, heart pounding in his chest.Then he goes silent, the realization hitting him that he really _did_ just take Jack’s cock all the way down his throat. 

Rhys, company man, has successfully deep throated another man.

And Handsome Jack couldn’t look more pleased. 

Jack’s got a shit eating grin plastered on his face, and he steps backwards, unbuttoning and rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. “ _Good_ boy,” he says, laughter punctuating his words. “Holy fuck, kiddo, didn’t think you’d be able to take my whole cock down your slut throat the first time like that.”

Blushing, Rhys stares at the carpet. 

Jack sets down his vape on the bedside table and turns the radio up louder. “Stand up. Sit on the edge of the bed, baby boy. Daddy’s about to treat you _so_ good.”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Sin-mas, boys and girls.

_“Sit on the edge of the bed, baby boy. Daddy’s about to treat you so good.”_

Rhys shudders at the words. His body moves on autopilot as the back of his knees hit the mattress. The radio on the bedside table is just a little too loud, and it’s a little too late at night for the music that’s blaring. It’s clearly music to drown out the sound of fucking. 

“So pretty when you blush, pumpkin,” Jack croons. He stands over Rhys, hard cock dangling out of his jeans. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband and hikes them down, leaving them puddled on the floor. “Your turn.”

Rhys toes off his shoes, unzips his slacks, leaves them piled at the edge of the bed. His shirt and underwear go with them, and his erect cock bobs against his belly, the head swollen and flushed red. Rhys gives an involuntary murmur in the back of his throat, feeling embarrassed. His cock isn’t small by any means, but next to Jack, his whole body looks lithe and slender. 

“Look at you, you little twink,” Jack says with a viperous grin. “Lay back. Spread your legs.”

The sheets are soft and cool against the bare flesh of Rhy’s back, but he feels like his whole body is overheating as he lays back and pushes his legs apart. 

“There we go, sweetheart,” says Jack, lickings his lips. In move that takes Rhys by surprise, Jack drops to his knees. His big hands wrap around Rhys’ ankles, pressing them down into the mattress and keeping them in place. “Don’t move, do you hear me? You move your hips at all, and my teeth are going to be making friends with your dick.”

Then Jack’s mouth is on Rhys’ cock, the older man swallowing Rhys down his throat in one smooth movement. 

Rhys cries out, his fingers fisting the sheets, grabbing desperately for purchase as he forces himself not to move his hips. It’s hot and wet and wonderful. Jack’s tongue swirls around the head of his cock, the older man’s cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Jack’s lips are smoother than human flesh when he’s wearing his mask, like warm wet silk. Rhys has had blow jobs before, but by women with slender hands and strong skinny bodies. Jack is all heavy muscle and calloused hands, his wide shoulders working as he raises and lowers himself to swallow Rhy’s cock. 

Small, breathy pleas escape Rhys’ parted lips, and he cracks open his eyes to see Jack staring back at him, the older man’s heterocromatic eyes watching Rhys’ every expression. The eye contact seems to infurtiate Jack, because in the next moment his hands move to slam Rhys’ crooked legs down flat into the mattress. Jack’s perfectly manicured fingernails dig half moons into Rhys’ pale flesh, the sudden sharp sting sending a jolt through Rhys’ body. 

_“Ah ah ah!”_ Rhys cries out. His hips swivel, and suddenly there comes the lightest press of teeth on his cock. Jack’s stopped moving, his canines pressing a warning against Rhys’ member. “Sorry, Daddy,” Rhys moans, his voice thick with lust. 

“Mmm, good boy,” Jack manages to say while his teeth are still clamped around the smaller man’s dick. It would have been funny, Rhys thought, had be not known how capable Jack was of inflicting real pain on others, and for a fleeting moment Rhys wonders if Jack’s ever done it, ever bitten down hard on a lover, left them screaming and battered and bruised.

The thought sends an unexpected thrill through Rhys, coiling out of his stomach like revulsion but leaving the taste of something darkly sweet against his tongue. He groans again, his body shivering.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, pumpkin?” Jack asks, removing his teeth to lick a slow stripe up Rhys’ cock. He sucks at the dribbling tip, swirls his tongue around the head. 

“Want you to bite me, Daddy,” Rhys moans. 

Surprise washes over Jack’s face. “On your _dick_?” he asks, eyebrows raised. 

“No no no...” Rhys says, “...anywhere else.”

Jack snears. “Gonna ask me like a good boy?”

Rhys nibbles at his bottom lip. “Please bite me, Daddy?”

Rather than answer, Jack presses his teeth into Rhy’s tender inner thigh.

Rhys arches off the bed, a yell suppressed in his throat. Jack nips at the same spot over and over, leaving a mark that’s sure to bruise. As the older man works his way upwards, biting soft flesh between his teeth and laving it with his tongue, Rhys clenches his jaw, his busy mind turning into a pleasurable dull hum of sensation. There’s teeth scraping along the sensitive spot between his groin and thigh, and then Jack’s mouth is on his balls, sucking them into his mouth as he presses his fingers up against Rhys’ taint. 

“Oh God, _yes_...” Rhys moans. He rakes his hands through his hair, writhing the top of his body. 

“Careful, baby boy,” Jack says, his voice a low timbre, “If you start trying to face fuck me, I’ll leave you hog tied and ball gagged in here for the cleaning lady to find tomorrow morning.” He rolls Rhys’ balls in his hands one more time, then says, “Lay on your stomach, pumpkin.”

Rhys clambers up the bed so he can lay down without his feet dangling off, then lowers himself onto his belly. He can’t see what Jack is doing behind him, but he can hear the older man set his metal rings and watch onto the coffee table. Then the mattress sinks as Jack kneels onto the bed, and fingertips ghost slowly down Rhys’ spine. Rhys shudders in pleasure, presses his forehead into the covers to hide the new blush tinting his cheeks. Jack does it again, drawing his fingers down Rhys’ ribs, his back, down the back of his thighs to the ticklish part behind his knees.

Rhys sighs. The big, calloused hands that were brutally holding him down just moments ago are gentle and careful on his body, and he feels his cock twitch from where it’s pressed beneath his belly. 

There’s the sound of fabric rustling- Jack throwing off his shirt and tossing it on the floor- before the older man lays his weight on one elbow beside Rhys’ head. Jack’s chest comes to press just so against Rhys’ back. Jack’s erection, rock hard and ready, is against his lower back, the older man’s balls resting against the top of his ass crack. 

“So beautiful, pretty boy,” Jack whispers into Rhys’ ear. “Look at you being Daddy’s sweet little slut. You’re going to get opened up so wide for Daddy, do you hear? Your gonna take my whole cock into that tight little ass of yours, Rhysie.” 

He doesn’t even ask if Rhys has bottomed before, but Jack must know he hasn’t. He’s too nervous, too shy, too utterly submissive to even pretend he’d been with another man before. Rhys has played with himself, of course, but it was a small toy shoved into his ass on the nights he was feeling particularly needy, the strange desire to be filled taking over his senses. 

“...gonna open up for you, Daddy,” Rhys groans. 

Jack nips at his earlobe, then combs his hand back into Rhys’ hair and pulls, the back of Rhys’ head resting against his collar bone. “How many of my fingers do you think you could take, baby?” he asks, twisting Rhys’ hair harder into his grasp. Tears spring to Rhys’ eyes, and because he can’t shake his head, he answers, “...I... I don’t know, Daddy...” 

“That’s not an answer, cupcake,” Jack hisses. “How many of my fingers could you take? Two? Three? Four? My whole fist?”

Rhys’ heart leaps in his chest. He glances sideways at Jack’s hand. “...t-two, Daddy?” 

Jack snorts. “Two? Oh sweetheart, that pretty little ass of yours is gonna be wrecked when I’m done splitting you apart on my dick. Don’t worry though, beautiful, just tryin’ to figure out if I could slam it in there with no prep, you know? Wouldn’t that be fuckin’ great? But nah, ain’t gonna destroy that little cunt of yours our first time.”

“My _cunt_?” Rhys repeats incredulously before he can stop himself. 

“You're face down under your boss with your legs spread, beautiful,” Jack says. “That’s some straight up slutty secretary shit. Yeah, I said I was gonna destroy your cunt, sugar pie. You think I can’t have your writhing under me like you’re a girl? Especially,” he says, lowering his voice, “when I can just tease this spot right here...” He peppers kisses behind Rhys’ ear. “... And here...” he moves down to the underside of the younger man’s jaw. “...and here...” He lets go of Rhys’ hair and kisses down the younger man’s back, skimming his lips down until he reaches the top of Rhys’ ass. 

“...and right _here_ , baby boy, this one’s really gonna make you squirm.” His calloused hands come to rest on the undersides of Rhys’ asscheeks, pulling them apart. Rhys barely has time to register what’s happening before Jack’s tongue is on his asshole.

 _“Fuck!”_ Rhys gasps, eyes wide. 

Jack chuckles deep in his throat. He circles his tongue around Rhys’ puckered entrance, then draws the flat of his tongue all the way up from the younger man’s balls to the top of his ass crack. Rhys can’t help it, he starts wiggling his hips against the bed, but Jack doesn’t seem to mind this time. Jack even seems to enjoy it, pushing Rhys’ thighs apart and then absolutely burying his face between Rhys’ ass. The tip of his tongue prods at Rhys’ entrance, then slowly pushes in, the tight muscle quivering around it. 

Rhys buries his face into a pillow, huffing out little _hn hn hnnn_ sounds as Jack’s spit slick tongue pushes into him. 

Jack thrusts his tongue in and out a few times, then sucks at the pucker with his lips.  
“What’s your favorite kind of salad, Rhysie?” he asks suddenly. 

Rhys blinks in confusion, his vision blurry and his body boiling with passion. “..wh-what?” he asks. “What do you- _hnnnn, yyyyeahhhh... Oh, fuck_!”

Jack pushes so far into Rhys’ ass that Rhys can feel the other man’s teeth resting against his crack. Jack grins and pulls back out. “What’s your favorite kind of salad, baby? Caeser? Cobb? ... _tossed_? Is that is, Rhys? Is _tossed_ salad your favorite?”

 _“JACK!”_ Rhys shouts. “What the _hell_?!”

Jack smacks him _hard_ on the ass. “What’d you just call me?”

Rhys nearly talks back, but remembers the warning of teeth on his cock. He huffs out, “ _Sorry_ , Daddy,” and slumps back down onto the mattress.

“You didn’t answer me, cupcake,” Jack says, and Rhys swears he can hear the snear in his voice. “What’s your favorite kind of salad?”

Rhys shoves his face into his hands, the metal of the right having gotten cold in the air conditioning. Sometimes he hates Jack. _Really_ hates him. But he’s got a feeling he’s not getting out of this one, and if he doesn’t play, Jack’s capable of going from playful to downright nasty in seconds. He coughs once, a shamed lump in his throat. “...tossed salad, Daddy. Tossed salad is my favorite.”

Jack howls with laughter. He’s on his hands and knees, shaking the whole bed as his amusement thunders through the room. “Holy _fuck_ , kiddo! You’ll fucking say anything to get some dick, won’t you?”

 _You MADE me say it!_ Rhys thinks hotly. 

Still laughing, Jack snaps his fingers at Rhys as if he’s asking the kid to get him a cup of coffee. “Give me that lube,” he says. 

Rhys glances over at the beside table. There’s a small bottle of lube beside the radio that Jack must have put there when he took off his rings and watch. Blushing, Rhys grabs the lube and gives it to Jack.

“On your back,” Jack says. 

When Rhys rolls over, he takes all of Jack in with his eyes. The man’s wide shoulders, the thick hair on his chest that trails down his abdomen, his muscular arms and long legs. He’s got a flush across his tanned body, and Rhys wonders if Jack’s real face is just as flushed under the mask. 

Jack hums his approval. “Bend your knees up. Spread those pretty little ass cheeks. Good boy. _Now..._ ” he says, clicking open the bottle of lube, and Rhys swears he hears Jack’s breath catch a little in the back of his throat, “let’s get this show on the road.” 

Jack rubs the lube over his fingers, warming it, then dips a hand down and pushes his finger against Rhys’ entrance. Jack’s tongue has already been there, and there’s barely any burn when Jack pushes his finger in up to the knuckle. He pushes in and out a few times, then adds a second finger. Rhys moans when Jack starts to scissor his fingers. Then Jack makes a come hither motion with is digits, hitting that bundle of nerves that sends Rhys arching off the bed.

“Nnn... feels _good_ , Daddy.”

“Of _course_ it does, baby boy,” Jack croons, “feels good when Daddy’s big fingers fill up that tight little fuck hole, spread you open, ready to take Daddy’s hard cock.”

“ _Please_ ,” Rhys whines, “please just _fuck_ me, Daddy.”

Jack doesn’t need another invitation. He slathers his cock in lube, then hoists the younger man’s legs up over his shoulders and starts pushing his cock in. 

“Wait, I- _nnnnnnnnhhh_!” Rhys cries, gritting his teeth. Jack feels huge, sliding in inch by inch, hot and thick and throbbing. It burns and aches, making Rhy’s stomach flutter and his legs clench shut. 

“Now, now, kiddo,” Jack says, dropping himself onto his palms above Rhys, “you got what you asked for.” 

Rhys gasps for air. He looks down to see how far in Jack is.

Barely half way. 

But the sight of his boss’s huge cock stretching open his ass makes his flagging erection harden in excitement, and then another inch or two in and Jack’s cock is brushing at that spot in him, sending sparks of pleasure through his body.

Jack’s gritting his own teeth, eyes locked in lustful concentration on the point where his body meets Rhys’. “Is this the biggest you’ve ever had?” he nearly snarls. “Have you ever put a toy this big in your ass?”

“No, Daddy,” Rhys mewls. “You’re the biggest I’ve ever had.”

“ _Mmmm_ , yeah, that’s it, pumpkin,” Jack growls, “take Daddy’s big cock. Take it all the way, sweetheart.” He pushes hard, shoving his dick in until he bottoms out, his balls resting against Rhys’ ass. 

“Tell me I’m your first, pumpkin. Fucking say it.”

“You’re my first, Daddy.”

Jack’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He pumps his hips, short, quick thrusts at first, brushing again and again over Rhys’ prostate. 

It hurts. But it feels _so fucking good_ , too. Rhys is wailing from the white hot burn and whimpering from the pleasure pooling in his lower belly. His body is trying to push Jack out, and Jack thrusts harder, lowers himself onto his elbows, his strokes deeper and longer. A sheen of sweat has broken out across Jack’s skin, glistening as his muscles work, his biceps bulging and his abs tightening as he moves his hips. The headboard of the bed starts tapping against the wall, and Jack glances up to it, a grin splitting across his face.

“We’re gonna wake the neighbors, darlin’,” he says, moving his hips with more gusto. The headboard goes from tapping the wall to banging against it, the bed frame squeaking beneath them. 

Rhys had dissolved into a series of pleas and _oh yes’s_ and _fuck’s_ and _ow ow ow’s_. 

“Ow?” Jack asks, still thrusting. “Tell Daddy what hurts, pumpkin.”

“My ass, Daddy,” Rhys whines.

Jack hums long and low. “You’re being such a good boy, Rhys. Look at you, taking all that cock in your little virgin ass for Daddy.” 

Rhys whimpers, his own cock throbbing, desperate for release. Then finally, _finally_ , he feels his body relax, his tight entrance opening enough that Jack can thrust with more ease. 

Something about him opening up makes Jack growl again, and the older man angles his hips to pound Rhys’ prostate. Rhys wails and throws his arms around Jack’s neck, hanging on for dear life. The radio is loud, the bed is loud, but they’re louder. Rhys is nearly screaming, and Jack sounds like a wild animal, deep throaty breaths and snarls as his nostrils flare. 

“Everyone’s gonna know, baby doll,” Jack grinds out, “everyone’s gonna know tomorrow morning that I fucked you. You’ll pick up your shitty free croissant at breakfast and sit down on your chair like there’s a dagger in your ass, and all the other Hyperion chumps are gonna stare at you and know that you got fucked by the big boss.” 

It’s too much. Rhys starts sobbing, not out of pain, but from everything, the intensity and the need in his cock and the desire burning through him that’s laid dormant for too long. _Jack. Boss. Daddy,_ he thinks to himself. Fuck, how long had he looked at the other man longingly across the room, watched his big hands clutch his coffee cup, tap a pen, sign a document, and wanted those hands to be on him? Jack’s body is hot and damp with sweat and holding him close, and Rhys hazily remembers some asshole from corporate throwing his bags into a room directly below theirs earlier in the evening. 

Oh yeah, everyone was gonna know. 

“ _Daddy..._ ” Rhys says, “I’m so close...”

Jack makes a _tsk_ ing sound. “Me first, pretty boy.” He shifts his weight, takes his right hand and wraps it around Rhys’ throat. His fingers press into the flesh just below Rhys’ ears, the pressure points instantly filling Rhys’ head with a dizzy cloud of dull pain.

Rhys can’t breathe. Jack is strangling him, tightening his grasp just enough that Rhys can’t inhale. Rhys tries to jerk away, but Jack only balances on his knees, brings his other hand to Rhys’ neck, and keeps thrusting. 

“That’s it, cupcake,” he snarls, “let Daddy fuck you.” 

Rhys’ grip on Jack’s shoulders is faltering, and he claws at Jack’s back, tries to break free. He brings his metal hand up and pushes hard at Jack’s shoulder, but just as he thinks he’s really going to have to fight, Jack lets go. 

Eyes wild, Rhys gasps for air. First there’s anger, and then bewilderment, and then... a strange wave of pleasure washes over him. His limbs feel like jelly, and his body tingles with adrenaline. 

When Jack puts his hands on Rhys’ throat for the second time, Rhys doesn’t stop him. 

Letting himself drift into the feeling, Rhys stares up through slatted eyes along the long lines of Jack’s arms, watches as the older man pounds into him as Jack’s fingertips press bruises into his jawline. It’s only when his chest starts hitching that the worry creeps back in. He’s trusting Jack to let go, because that’s all he can do. 

His lungs spasm, trying to pull in breathe they can’t reach. His body shakes. His hands fly up to Jack’s wrists, grasping there, not pushing away, but letting Jack know that he can’t take it much longer. 

Jack pushes just past the point of really worrying Rhys, then lets go again. Rhys writhes, gasps, nostrils flaring and mouth wide open. 

“ _Fuck yeah, kiddo_ ,” Jack says. “Daddy’s good little slut, giving Daddy what he wants.” His thrusts become erratic, hips slamming against Rhys’ in a fast, sloppy rhythm. “Daddy’s so close, sweetheart... _Fuck_ , here it is, Rhysie... Daddy’s gonna bust in that tight little ass of yours...” 

Jack slams a hand back down onto Rhys’ neck, presses hard, rakes his other hand through his hair and absolutely howls. Thick ropes of cum shoot from his cock into Rhys, filling the younger man with Jack’s finish. 

Panting, Rhys stares at Jack. The older man looks absolutely wrecked. His typically neat hair is a tangled disarray, his body covered in sweat, his chest heaving as he gasps. A smug sense of pride washes over Rhys. His body feels limp as Jack slowly pulls his cock out. But Rhys isn’t empty long, because Jack slides two fingers back into Rhys’ ass, then sinks down and sucks on his cock.

Rhys moans softly and writhes, and it’s only a moment before he spills himself across Jack’s tongue. 

Handsome Jack fucking _swallows_. 

If Rhys wasn’t already completely spent, he’d be hard again in an instant at that thought alone. 

“Look at you, beautiful,” Jack murmurs, “so stretched and raw, so wet with my cum...” He tucks his head back between Rhys’ cheeks and starts licking at the younger man’s sore entrance. 

_“Ahhh ahh ahh! Ja- Daddy... Too much...”_ he pleads. 

Jack trails his fingertips softly up Rhys’ thighs, draws tender circles on his hips while his tongue laps at Rhys’ hole.

“God, _fuck_...” Rhys gasps, “are you...?”

He doesn’t need to finish the question. Handsome Jack is most definitely licking his own cum out of his ass. Jack licks and licks until Rhys is a quivering mess on the bed, wet and sloppy, and then finally stops, drawing himself up the mattress to lay beside Rhys, pulling him closely into his arms.

Jack leans forward and kisses him. 

It’s soft and gentle, bizarre but not unwelcome. His lips taste like sex and coffee and the lingering spices of his vape, and Rhys kisses him back, their tongues tangling lazily with one another.

Jack is petting him, his hand stroking through his hair now instead of pulling. The older man leans in to him and, low and heady, asks, “Are you okay?”

Rhys nods. “Better than okay, Daddy.”

Jack smiles. It’s a real smile, reaching his eyes and making them glimmer with amusement. “Jeez, kiddo, you can call me Jack now.”

“Okay then,” Rhys says, smiling back. “I’m okay, Jack.”

“Good,” Jack says. He lays down, stares at the ceiling, seems to be considering something. After a moment, he opens his arm to the side, making room beside himself. “C’mere.”

Timidly, Rhys does so, moving into the space and laying his head on Jack’s chest. Jack reaches his other arm over, grabs his vape, brings it to his mouth. He takes a pull on it, then laughs as the smoke billows out of his lungs. 

“Tossed salad,” he says. 

“Oh my God, _shut up_ ,” Rhys says, but he’s laughing too, and he hides his face in Jack’s armpit. 

“Yeah? How’s that smell, kiddo? Take a big whiff.”

For a reason not even Rhys himself can place, he does it. “Little sweaty. Mostly like your deodorant and cologne.” 

A bemused expression comes over Jack’s face. He’s puzzled and wary, a look that Rhys has only seen on Jack’s face maybe once or twice the entire time he’s known him. 

Jack hums. Rhys drifts off into sleep, the radio beside them having grown quieter with night time talk radio. A half hour or maybe an hour later, Jack shifts so that Rhys gently rolls off of him. 

“Hey cupcake, this vape ain’t doin’ it anymore,” Jack mutters. “I’m goin’ out for a real cig.” 

“Mmkay,” Rhys says sleepily. 

Jack puts on his clothes, grabs a pack of cigarettes from his luggage, and picks up the keycard. “There’s another keycard in that suitcase over there, right on the top.” He winks. “I’ll be right back.”

The door click shuts behind Jack, and he doesn’t come back for the rest of the night.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so be warned. This is a long chapter of info dump backstory and it's mostly angst and drama. You can skip this if you want, it's just what happened in my head to get the characters to this point in the story. Please read these individuals tags I just wrote here to make sure you want to read this.
> 
> Chapter contains:  
> -bringing a dead dude back to life  
> -Jack having a short seizure  
> -spit  
> -short mention of dry heaving, nothing else happens  
> -sad feelings, bad memories, the characters feel like shit, this chapter isn't cute at all  
> -Rhys loses all his friends  
> -Jack still being an asshole  
> -Jack is going to get worse before he gets any better  
> -seriously this is a long ass info dump chapter  
> -Happy New Year???
> 
> I don't have anyone beta any of my chapters so if there's typos I'll catch them later and fix them.

It’s two in the morning. Rhys sits in a patio chair on the balcony outside the hotel room, looking through the chilly night at the bustling metropolis of Opportunity. The white buildings dazzle with blue and green lights, and the starry sky is awash in a tapestry of holographic advertisements. The nocturnal hum of city noise is alive and vibrant, with Stingrays zipping through the streets and workers coming and going from shops and offices that are open twenty four hours a day. 

If anyone would have told Rhys three years ago that Opportunity would rise to a greatness surpassing even Handsome Jack’s dreams, he would have told them they were crazy. But here it was. Beautiful, prosperous, secure.

And all because Rhys had done a very bad thing. 

He’d brought back Handsome Jack.  
　　  
Again.  
　　  
Rhys pops open a bottle of champagne from the hotel room’s fridge and sips it straight from the bottle. It’s a good champagne, the kind that’s going to come up as an Eridium charge on Jack’s bill instead of regular cash. Of course Jack told him he could take anything from the room, but nothing came from Jack without an invisible price tag attached to it.  
　　  
Especially not the emotional debts, which accrued interest mercilessly.  
　　  
Three years ago, Opportunity had been an empty shell, and Rhys had been the CEO of Atlas, one of the first corporations in a long time that used peaceful measures rather than violence to work their way to the top. Saving lives and advancing medical technology was their aim, and Rhys had been proud to serve as their leader, humbled by the hard work of his employees. He told himself he was nothing like Jack anymore. No threatening, no killing, no brainwashing. Hell, with the amount of reformed bots they’d reprogrammed to join their side, they’d even managed to avoid as much human testing as possible, with Loader Bot acting as their first test subject for new prosthetic limbs. Soon the healthy population of Pandora had boomed, and they needed new places to live. Opportunity already had electricity, plumbing, and sturdy buildings. It was perfect. The first Council of Opportunity was formed, and with Rhys, Vaugn, Fiona, Sasha, and August acting their parts, their different opinions and mutual respect for each other stirred up some heated but important debates. In one year, Opportunity went from a glimmer of hope into a radiant beacon of life, and Rhys thought he’d finally left the worst of his life behind him.  
　　  
But, as Fiona once told him, _Once Hyperion, always Hyperion._  
　　  
His biggest mistake, Rhys thought, had been keeping the ECHO eye after Jack’s second death. He should have crushed it when he had the chance. He’d felt such relief after he’d unplugged Jack that he thought he was free of the man’s grip forever. Then, slowly but surely, missing Jack got harder and harder.  
　　  
Rhys knew it didn’t make sense that he missed the asshole. He’d tried to confess his issues to his friends, hoping they’d understand- and they did, but only a little. Sasha said it was because Jack had been his hero, and it wasn’t easy to let go of that, but she’d held his hand and kissed him and told Rhys it would be okay. Fiona had said that Jack was an expert in manipulation, and that Rhys was falsely remembering Jack as a good guy. August had just smirked and shook his head.  
　　  
But Vaughn was a different story. Vaughn had gently pulled him into his bedroom that night, when no one was looking, and asked Rhys if he’d ever had feelings toward another man. Asked if maybe he wasn't just obsessed with Handsome Jack, but had feelings for him, too. The question had surprised and alarmed Rhys. He wasn’t sure if Vaughn was coming on to him or not, so he shook his head and said no. Vaughn had slowly unbuttoned his shirt, unbuttoned his pants, slung them low on his hips to show off his hip bones.  
　　  
“Are you sure?” Vaughn had asked, his voice low.  
　　  
Rhys had stared, his eyes locked onto Vaughn’s body.  
　　  
“Don’t wanna ruin our friendship,” Vaughn had said gently, “but you’re my best bud, you know? If there’s something you need to figure out, well... I wouldn’t mind helping.”  
　　  
Rhys combed his fingers nervously through his hair and glanced away. “Y-yeah... Okay. Thanks. I just... Seeing Sasha.”  
　　  
Vaughn hummed. “I asked her. She’s okay with this.”  
　  
“You guys talked about having sex with me without me there?” Rhys said, voice simmering with annoyance.  
　　  
“Well yeah,” Vaughn said, shrugging. “We love you, you know that, right? We’ve all been through a lot. It’s the first time in most of our lives that we’re free to be who we are, so if we need to do a little... experimentation... to figure that out, no harm, no foul.”  
　　  
Rhys had smiled a bit and nodded. “Okay, bud. Look, I dunno if I like guys at all, but if I need your... help... I’ll let you know.”  
　　  
Vaughn smiled back. “Is it gonna be awkward between us now?”  
　　  
“Nah, I’m over it,” Rhys said. “I mean, you do have really great abs there, bro. Even the straightest dude is gonna have a hard time not looking.”  
　　  
_Not into guys,_ Rhys said to himself, heading to his office to work on contracts for Atlas. _Wasn't hot for Handsome Jack._ But that night he was spread legged in his bed, fisting his cock with one hand while he worked his ass open with the other, muffling his moans into his pillow so his friends couldn’t hear him from their rooms in the condominium they all shared. And he’d started out trying to picture Vaughn above him. Sweet, doe eyed Vaughn with his rock hard body and gentle voice, tried to picture his friend who’d grown into a rough and tumble man with his fingers deep inside him, but the image in his head twisted as he pumped his cock harder, the picture of the man in his mind growing taller, wider, darker, more sinister, until it had taken on the form of Handsome Jack himself. The next week Rhys had gone out to the first and only sex shop in Opportunity, dressed in a holographic disguise of someone else, and gotten himself a small lifelike didlo with a suction cup end. Then he stuck it to the wall and backed his ass up onto it, picturing Jack grabbing his hips, bending him over that big desk in his Helios office. And his old obsession, which he’d prayed had been extinguished, rose inside him like a flame, burning hotter until it consumed him.  
　　  
He’d known where Jack was buried. Most of the old Hyperion workers had wanted Jack cremated, just to make sure nothing and no one could ever bring him back, but Rhys’ friends had gently respected his wishes to have Jack buried beside Angel and his first wife, as sick and twisted as it might have seemed to an outsider.  
　　  
His friends, of course, hadn’t known he’d kept the ECHO eye. Or that he’d ‘borrowed’ the healing compass from Sasha without her knowing. Or that he’d taken Nakayama’s notes. As he stood at Jack’s grave, watching a reprogrammed Loader Bot digging up the casket, an old darkness washed over him, devoid of feeling but for the overwhelming need to complete a task to fulfill himself. Rhys had created his own ramshackle laboratory where Nakayama had run his experiments, and he’d found a way to hack the ECHO eye so he could access Jack’s memories.  
　　  
_It’ll be fine,_ he told himself, watching as the Jack A.I. flashed him a wicked grin before disappearing back into the static of the screen. _This is real Jack we’re bringing back, not some stupid computer program._  
　　  
When the Loader Bot next to him realized what was truly happening, it put up a hell of a fuss, and Rhys shot it.  
　　  
_Death toll: one._  
　　  
Jack wasn’t even back yet, and already a life was gone. But it was just a robot, he told himself, which had been given the grace of extra years of life thanks to the peaceful reprogramming system. Without Atlas, the bot would have been terminated immediately upon being found.  
　　  
He opened the casket and stared at Jack’s dead face. Revolting. Wrong. Nothing about it seemed as if Jack could be off in some peaceful slumber. Rhys had heard about the supposed scar that covered the man’s face, but seeing it up close, well... he could understand why Jack would want to keep it covered. But it was the closest that Rhys had ever been to the real Jack, and deep in his gut, it thrilled him.  
　　  
Rhys had reprogrammed another Loader Bot after that, not to save its life, just to help him lift the body into the chamber where the resurrection procedure would be done. Jack’s body would need blood- a lot of it- and Rhys had done something he hadn’t been proud of and ‘borrowed’ some from some bandits along the way. Good thing Jack wasn’t a rare blood type, or this would have been an even longer venture. He’d needed tubes to put into Jack’s nostrils and down his throat, to deliver oxygen and to make sure the man didn’t choke if he successfully came back to life. A dead body needed a lot of liquids and tubes stuck into it, and Rhys made the bot hook Jack up to all of it. Even with everything he’d gone through, he couldn’t manage to touch a cadaver. Especially not if something went wrong and he had to bury Jack again.  
　　  
Once the chamber was closed, the power was on, and all the programs were running, Rhys pulled the pocket watch out and clicked it into the terminal that would dispense its power to Jack’s whole body.  
　　  
_Time heals all wounds,_ Rhys remembered.  
　　  
He hoped that was true.  
　　  
Then he’d activated the resurrection program, stood back, and watched.  
　　  
The light from the terminal was nearly blinding, the noises sickening and bizarre as organs fluttered to life, blood filled up veins, skin puffed up like an old wrinkled leather bag being slowly softened and filled back up.  
　　  
A blip on the monitor.  
　　  
A heartbeat.  
　　  
Just one at first, making Rhys sighed mournfully, wondering if had all been in vain. Then, after a minute, another. Then another.  
　　  
Jack’s heart was beating.  
　　  
Suddenly he was alive, gasping for air, his eyes wide and wild as he tried to pull the tubes stuck down his nostrils and throat but was unable to pry his arms up from the restraints that held him down.  
　　  
“Jack!” Rhys called into the microphone that led into the chamber, “relax! I’m bringing you back to life!”  
　　  
Handsome Jack’s eyes had focused on Rhys through the glass, his face nothing but rage, until the resurrection program ended ten minutes later.  
　　  
_“Resurrection complete!”_ a female computer voice announced. _“Congratulations! You may now open the chamber and examine your patient.”_  
　　  
Scared out of his mind, Rhys made the Loader Bot open the door. The bot unplugged Jack from all the tubes, checked his vitals, helped him sit up. There was a table nearby with Jack’s mask and a change of clothes nearly identical to the outfit he died in. Rhys turned around, arms folded, and stared at the floor while the bot helped Jack change.  
　　  
Rhys’ heart hammered in his chest. He could barely breathe, and his mind cycled between shouting _He’s alive! I brought Handsome Jack back to life!_ and _This was a huge fucking mistake._  
　　  
The silence was finally broken by Jack himself.  
　　  
“Rhys...” he croaked out, his vocal cords still warming up, “...where’s Angel?”  
　　  
Rhys spun around, the question leaving him gobsmacked. He stared at Jack while the older man buttoned up his shirt, turned up his sleeves, pulled on his jacket. Tall. Wide shouldered. Handsome. Every bit as intimidating as Rhys has ever imagined. “She’s... She’d still dead,” he said. “I’m sorry. I brought you back first.”  
　　  
Jack pressed his lips together tightly, then nodded. “Good plan. Don’t wanna fuck things up bringing back my girl.” He sat down on a chair, pulled on his boots. “Hey, thanks for saving my ass, kiddo. What’s your name?”  
　　  
Rhys stared at him. “It’s... My name is Rhys.”  
　　  
“Great to meet you, Rhys. You one of Nakayama’s worker bees? That sicko was obsessed with me, but hell, guess it all worked out.”  
　　  
“No, I’m... I worked for Hyperion,” Rhys said, feeling like his own life is draining from him. “Nakayama’s dead.”  
　　  
Jack laughed. “Holy shit, kiddo, thank fucking god! Hey, you got anything to eat around him? I’m fucking starving. At least get me a glass of water or something. Your hospitality sort of sucks.”  
　　  
Rhys gave him a canteen of water and watched as Jack gulped it down in one breath, the man’s Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Jack gives a big, breathy sigh when he’s done, wipes his mouth across his sleeve, and throws the canteen into the corner.  
　　  
“Feel like my skin’s on fire,” Jack said. “Like when your leg falls asleep and then the pins and needles hit.”  
　　  
“Sorry,” Rhys mumbled. “I thought that might happen. It should pass once all your nerves are acclimated to being alive again.”  
　　  
“I’ve also got one hell of a boner.”  
　　  
Rhys goes silent.  
　　  
“What’d you do, pump me full of Engorge?” Jack asked. “Be a fucking shame to waste this epic morning wood. Hey, you think you could ECHO Nisha?”  
　  
“...Nisha?” asked Rhys. “Your... Girlfriend?”  
　　  
“Hell yeah, kiddo. The sexy Sheriff? You remember me telling you about her, right?”  
　　  
Something was wrong. 

"Jack, what's the last thing you remember about being alive?" Rhys asked. 

“I dunno,” Jack said, not even bothering to think about it. “Something something Vault Hunters, something something kicking Roland’s pathetic little bitch ass, something something taking back Hyperion...”

  
　　  
“Jack,” Rhys pleaded, “I need you to think for me. So that we can... So we can safely bring back Angel. What’s your very last memory of being alive?”  
　　  
Jack paused, staring at the wall, then seemed to go completely blank. Suddenly a look came over his face like he was staring at a freight train headed straight for him, his blue and green eyes glassy and terrified beneath his arched eyebrows. His breath quickened, then he gasped for air, hyperventilating as his big hands gripped the sides of the chair with white knuckles. His head snapped to the side, one of his eyes flickering open and shut so quickly it was like watching an old film reel flicker. His eyes rolled back into his head, his jaw went slack, and his body seized and crumpled to the floor, limbs thrashing.

Panicked, Rhys has the Loader Bot hold Jack down and pry open his jaws. Rhys grabbed Jack’s tongue and pulled it out of the back of his throat to stop him from choking on it. 

_“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”_ Rhys repeated, helplessly stabbing an emergency hypo into Jack’s neck.  
　　  
The seizing in Jack’s body subsided into twitches and shivers. Jack blinked at him. He looked far away, his pupils tiny pinpricks in his eyes, and a bizarre grin lifted on his face. There’s tears streaking down his face and spit bubbling from his lips. “Hhhheeeey kiddo,” he rasped, the words drawn out and brittle, “how’s my little President of Helios doing these days?”  
　　  
Jack’s tanned skin is lighting up from the inside, his veins throbbing with blue light. He’s looking directly at Rhys, yet he isn’t, caught in some terrible lucid dream.  
　　  
Rhys choked down the sob rising in his throat and asked, “Jack? Is that you?”  
　　  
Jack laughed shortly. “Who else would it be, princess?”  
　　  
“Do you... remember me?”  
　　  
“Rhys, sweetheart, of course I remember you!” Jack paused, his eyes suddenly unblinking. “Remember you betraying the fuck out of me, too, kiddo. Soon as I get control of this body, cupcake, I’m gonna tear your fucking throat out.”  
　　  
Rhys didn't know what else to do. He’s stared into Jack's eyes and whispered, “John? Are you in there?”  
　　  
Jack’s eyes flickered. His pupils dilated and constricted like the lens of a camera. His body jerked around as his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. “Can you hear me, John?” Rhys said again. “John?”  
　　  
Jack’s body collapsed like rag doll onto the floor. He panted for breath, a sheen of sweat broken out across his skin, but the light in his veins dimmed and his eyes finally focused on Rhys. He blinked slowly a few times, shaking his head. “What the fuck did you just call me?”  
　　  
A hand reached up and grabbed Rhys’ tie, pulling him down until his forehead nearly touches Jack’s.  
　　  
“Answer me, you little piece of shit,” Jack growled. “What the fuck did you just call me?”  
　　  
“Sorry,” Rhys said for what feels like the hundredth time. “You were... having a seizure. I think you were hallucinating. I didn’t know how else to bring you out of it.”  
　　  
Jack glared. “How did you know... _that name_?”  
　　  
Rhys shrugged. “I was a big fan of you my whole life.” He wants to add _Don’t you remember? You just remembered me,_ but he doesn’t, not if it’s going to trigger another episode. “Plus, I had to steal your old medical records from Nakayama to bring you back.”  
　　  
Jack huffed, let go of the tie, pushed himself to his feet. His knees looked weak, nearly buckling under him. “Don’t ever call me that again.” He brushed himself off, glanced around the room. “Where’s my Angel?”  
　　  
Rhys swallowed hard. “She’s dead. That’s why you killed Roland.”  
　　  
“Right, yeah, I remember,” Jack said, his tone unconvincing. “You gonna bring her back, too?”  
　　  
Well, he hadn’t been planning on it, but Rhys realized now how foolish that was. “Yeah, just wanted to make sure I could bring you back first,” he lied. He doesn’t bring up Jack’s first wife. She was cremated after death. Rumor had it that her body was too ruined from whatever accident occurred to bury her in a casket.  
　　  
And Jack doesn’t mention her, either.  
　　  
The two of them leave together, shooting the Loader Bot on the way out, and head towards the shelter of Opportunity in the darkness of night.  
　　  
_Death toll: two._  
　　  
　　  
　  
It had all been downhill from there. Rhys couldn’t hide the fact that he’d brought Handsome Jack back for long. Jack wouldn’t let himself be hidden. The man immediately reclaimed what little of Hyperion was left and tried, without avail, to reinstitute himself as President of Opportunity. When that didn’t work, he went back to the Eridium Blight, started up any Loader Bots he could find, and went straight into planning a revitalization of Hyperion.  
　　  
To say that Rhys’ friends were enraged would have been an understatement. He could still remember the night Sasha broke up with him, softly telling him that she didn’t think they should see each other anymore. The fact that she hadn’t screamed or argued with him somehow made it worse. Like their first big argument as a couple had already destroyed so much inside of her she had nothing left to fight with.  
　　  
Rhys had moved out on his own, letting the others keep their place at the condo. August had looked a little bit victorious when Rhys left. Sasha sobbed in the corner and refused to even look at him. Fiona was rightly furious, spitting venom at him and throwing his things out the door. And Vaughn... Well, Rhys didn’t think he’d ever seen his best friend so heartbroken in his whole life.  
　　  
The only one who bothered to give him a decent goodbye was Gortys, whose eyes lit up into sad little half moons while she hugged his leg, her tiny voice whispering, “Don’t let Jack hurt you,” before she rolled off and hid behind Loader Bot.  
　　  
A day later, Rhys got a letter from Fiona, demanding that he hand control of Atlas over to Vaughn. Rhys agreed without argument. Jobless, homeless, and suddenly more lost than he’d ever felt in his life, he dragged himself to the Eridium Blight, to the only person left in the world who he was familiar with.  
　　  
Jack had welcomed him with open arms, saying that he owed Rhys a favor after he saved his life.  
　　  
He thought there was no way Jack could bring Hyperion back to what it used to be. How wrong Rhys had been. Pandora was still filled with desperate people. And when they saw that Jack really had come back from the dead, they treated him like a savior. Worst still, Jack claimed he could bring other people back from the dead. Rhys had begged for Jack to give the pocket watch back to Sasha, but he refused, saying he had bigger and better plans for it than letting it gather dust in some memory box. Of course, Jack claimed it would take years of research and experimentation, that he’d perfectly prepared his own body before death for the process but it would be risky for others, and that it would cost money... a _lot_ of money. The funds started pouring in, and soon there was an outpost on the moon for Hyperion, and then a small shuttle in space, and then the rebuilding of Helios started. 

____________Jack had always hated bandits, and he still did, but he saw something in them that he hadn’t before. His workers in Hyperion had expected great living quarters, vacation time, health insurance... and bandits didn’t. They expected almost nothing. They worked hard, harder than any human being should, for minimal wages, and frequently were happy to take their pay in food, booze, drugs, and prostitutes.  
　　  
Then Jack started building up the facade of Hyperion, ‘saving’ a few people here or there. A young woman would walk out of a bandit’s chambers, clearly having been paid a meager sum to be taken by three bandits at once, and Jack would offer her a desk job, more comfort and safety than she could ever imagine. The ones who took the job were so hardened to the abuse of the world that they didn’t flinch when Jack screamed or threw things or threatened to throw them out into the cold death of space. The ones who didn’t take the job were mysteriously left alone, an aspect to Jack that Rhys could never get a bead on.  
　　  
Who would suffer for pushing Jack away, and who wouldn’t? ____________

It seemed that everyone was going to suffer, because as soon as Jack got enough cash, he bought Opportunity back. Rhys' old friends on the Council couldn't stop it, because Pandora was still Pandora, and the rest of the council members had been paid off to vote in Jack's favor.  
　　  
Three years ago.  
　　  
Three years ago, Opportunity was an empty shell, and now it was a bustling hub of life.  
　　  
Three years ago Hyperion was gone and Helios was a wrecked shell embedded in the earth, and now it was an ever growing skeleton of steel hanging once more before the moon.  
　　  
Rhys became Jack’s personal assistant and made his boss coffee, scheduled appointments, and called Nisha when Jack remembered that he had a girlfriend. Rhys had no doubt that in their own bizarre, selfish, frightening way, Jack and Nisha loved each other, but it was a form of love that only they could understand. There were weeks when they were viciously jealous of each other, suspicious, angry. There was yelling, screaming, brutal rough sex that seemed just on the edge of consensual. There were weeks when they didn’t speak at all and seemed to forget that each other existed. There were weeks when they were gentle, soft spoken, spooning on Jack’s couch and whispering to each other, kissing like they might break one another. There were nights where Nisha got angry at Jack giving a passing glance at an attractive female Hyperion worker. There were nights when they brought home other people from a bar for a threesome or foursome. Sometimes they dated each other exclusively. Sometimes they were both dating several people at once. Jack proposed marriage. Nisha declined. Six months later, Nisha proposed, and Jack declined.  
　　  
Nisha was the only person in the universe who could get close to Jack and keep her freedom. She never brought up Jack’s past, only listened, and never asked questions. She’d proven to Jack that she could take care of herself, which was good, because if you didn’t prove it before you got close to Jack, he’d never give you the chance to show him otherwise. But there was a vulnerable side to Nisha, a scarred side, that did need Jack, possibly more than anyone else in the world needed him. She needed someone to put her past, her problems, her violent thoughts, her destructive urges in. And that worked for Jack, who was a bottomless pit of need, a black hole that fed on the energy of those around him until they collapsed.  
　　  
Rhys thought he’d gotten used to Jack’s manipulation, but A.I. Jack had been different from flesh and blood Jack. Jack would sometimes stare at the picture of Angel on his desk, or turn it down but keep it there, or tuck it away into his desk to hide it. Sometimes he’d mention Angel and would want Rhys to respond, but other times if Rhys would respond, Jack would slam his fist onto his desk and scream at him, throw his coffee, tell Rhys to get the fuck out of his office.  
　　  
Jack spent two years talking about bringing Angel back, but never acted on it. Everything was ready. Her body had been well preserved, almost no internal damage. It would be easy. One hour in the chamber with the resurrection program running and she’d be back.  
　　  
Jack was afraid.  
　　  
He’d loved her, but he couldn’t understand her. She should have been thankful, he thought. Should have listened to him. Her betrayal was the one that had hurt him the most, but Rhys knew there hadn’t been any betrayal. She’d just been a girl locked away her entire life, a girl who had let herself be convinced that death was the only way out of a lifetime of psychological torture.  
　　  
How could Rhys let her be brought back into the world? Into a world where he’d chosen Jack’s life over hers? Where her father would place her under his rule again, unless she ran away and disappeared into the violent crowds of Pandora?  
　　  
Rhys was glad Jack was afraid. Better to steal money and make empty promises of resurrecting people than to actually do it. Let a suffering mother believe she could bring back her dead child. Let Jack take her money and waste it. Jack was proof himself that a second chance at life didn’t make things easier. It only continued the story the person had been telling before they died.  
　　  
If Angel had been bought back first, perhaps her story could have been much different in a new chapter. But Rhys hadn’t done that. He’d brought back Jack instead.  
　　  
And something was still wrong.  
　　  
The first time it happened at work, they were in Jack’s office on Helios 2, the windows to space showing the spider web of steel beams reaching into the darkness as the structure was built. There wasn’t much habitable space yet on Helios 2, but Jack had made sure there was enough for his office, living space for the workers, and the start of a decent common area for the desk jockeys.  
　　  
“Get me a coffee from downstairs, would ya, kiddo?” Jack asked, staring down at his paperwork. He had his glasses on, the pair he only ever wore when he was alone or with just Rhys or Nisha there.  
　　  
Rhys had thought Jack was in decent spirits that day, so he nodded to the fancy little coffee maker in the corner of the office and asked, “What, that one not good enough for you now?”  
　　  
“Doesn’t make lattes. Get me the coffee or I’ll shove the JavaLoader straight up your asshole, cupcake.”  
　　  
Rhys snorted and went down and got Jack a latte just how the man liked it, extra hot, four shots of espresso, whole milk, three sugars, with a cup of ice water on the side because of course Jack would get whole milk and then complain when his spit got too thick in his mouth.  
　　  
“Here you go, boss,” Rhys joked when he got back. But when he saw Jack, he stopped dead in the doorway.  
　　  
Jack was crumpled over in his chair, head in his hands, fingers raked through his hair. His glasses had fallen down off his face and his jaw was clenched, deep lines creasing his brow as he grimaced in pain. And the light, it was there again, radiating blue from behind his eyelids and catching like lightning through his veins.  
　　  
“J-jack?” Rhys asked, heart fluttering in his chest. “Are you... okay?”  
　　  
The older man let out a low snarl. “Just a migraine, Rhysie. Put the cup down on my desk and get out.”  
　　  
Rhys inched forward, set the cup down, and was about to back away when Jack’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. The older man’s eyes flew open, pupils two dark pinpricks in the centers of the glowing orbs.  
　　  
_“Hhhhey babycakes,”_ Jack hissed, a venomous grin splitting his face. “Still alive, huh? Well I was gonna wait until you were getting laid or taking a shit, but better late than never...” He stood up and grabbed Rhys around the throat.  
　　  
Rhys scrambled to get away, punching at Jack with his metal arm, but Jack caught him by the fist and held him still, impossibly strong.  
　　  
“...s-stahhh-staahhp!” Rhys choked out, tunnel vision already creeping up on him as Jack lifted him off his feet and into the air. The pain pulsed through his body, each beat of his heart feeling like it could be his last.  
　　  
“What’s wrong, Mr. President?” Jack asked, tone mocking. “I thought you liked being above me? Isn't it great, looking down on me from your pedestal while telling me how much better you are than me?”  
　　  
_It’s him,_ Rhys thinks. _It’s Jack._ And to anyone else, it wouldn’t make sense, but through his blurry vision he managed to look Jack in the eye, take the last of his breath, and wheeze out, _“John... Please stop.”_ Ten seconds goes by. Then twenty. He thinks this is it, he’s going to die here on Jack’s office floor. _“John... John, please...”_  
　　  
The light in Jack’s eyes flickered. His hand went limp. Rhys fell to the floor with a painful thud, his tailbone bruising on impact. A second later Jack was down there with him, falling to his knees, his whole body shaking. Jack gasped for breath, started gagging, dry heaved as spit dripped from his mouth.  
　　  
Rhys gasped for air. Still trembling, he looked over at his boss doubled over, unsure of what to do. 

____________Jack, the real flesh and blood Jack, looked over with rage boiling in his eyes. “Get the fuck out of my office,” he growled. _“GET OUT! BEFORE I FUCKING KILL YOU!”__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Five hours later, Rhys is curled up in bed, too exhausted to sleep but too weary to do anything else but lay there. He gets a call on his ECHO. It’s Jack.  
　　  
“I need you to help me build a firewall,” Jack said quietly, apology tinting his voice. “Tomorrow morning.” A pause. “You fucked up real bad when you brought me back, kiddo. Don’t know what you did, but I can’t get this piece of shit out of my head.”  
　　  
The worst part of it all is that, for once, Jack was right. Rhys fucked up bad when he thought installing memories from the A.I. might do any good. He’d hoped it would ensure that Jack didn’t lose any of his memories, but the man seemed more confused than ever, having to ask Rhys to date documents for him, being unsure of his own history, getting confused between dreams he had, real memories, and memories from the A.I. program.  
　　  
Talking to Jack was like walking through a landmine. Jack was affronted that Rhys even knew about Angel, let alone that the A.I. program had divulged personal information.  
　　  
And with the A.I. plugged into his memory, Jack saw Rhys talking back to him, leaving him, betraying him. The only good part about Jack being who he is was that his ego didn’t let him think that the A.I. program was anything like him. It was weak, Jack said, a stupid program that had been coded poorly by Nakayama. With that excuse alone, Rhys had avoided the real Jack killing him.  
　　  
It took them two weeks of around the clock work to build the firewall program. In that time, Jack had three episodes the first week and one nearly every day the second week. The only thing that brought Jack out of it was Rhys calling him by the name John. Each time Rhys had to do it, Jack seemed to grow darker, more distant, the trash on his office desk piling up, the coffee the only thing being put into his stomach. But finally, it was finished._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________They tested and uploaded the firewall into Jack’s system._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________It worked. Sort of. Jack could still hear the A.I., could still sense it struggling, but it couldn't take control of his body anymore. It could, however, annoy the fuck out of him, and sometimes during meetings, Rhys could see Jack pause, shake his head, mutter something under his breath. Jack got distracted easily these days, always listening to the pissed off A.I. program chattering away in his head, and Rhys would think it was karma coming back to bite Jack in the ass, except the real flesh and blood Jack hadn’t been the one trying to take over his body years ago._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“We’ll figure something out,” Rhys said to him one day, after Jack had started arguing with the A.I. out of thin air. “We’ll find a way to pull it back out of you.”  
　　  
“Whatever, kid,” Jack responded.  
　　  
But Rhys knows it’s not ‘whatever’. Rhys brought Jack back from the dead. He installed a shitty A.I. program into his head that could only be stopped by digging into the deepest part of Jack, making him remember who he used to be as John. A working man. A husband. A father. A good man.  
　　  
Rhys dug Jack up from the grave and sent him back into a life of torment.  
　　  
Jack will remember that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
